Fat Tuesday(39)

"Told you," Burke said.

"Get in, wiseass."

As he stepped into the car, Burke grinned."Admit it, Wayne. That purple shirt is getting to you. You just wanted to feel me up."

Pinkie Duvall's law offices were as swank as his house, but entirely different. Here, the decor was sleek and contemporary. His secretaries and paralegals were leggy and gorgeous. No office machinery was visible to visitors and clients, only clean surfaces of marble and polished wood. The telephones didn't ring, they chimed in muted bell tones.

Pinkie was behind his desk when a secretary announced that Mr. Basile had arrived, as though this wasn't a command appearance, as though he was keeping an appointment, as though he hadn't been forced to come here under threat of bodily harm.

Duvall didn't stand when he and Bardo walked in. Burke knew the slight was intentional, calculated to make him feel like axplebeian going before his ruler. Duvall said, "Hello, Mr. Basile."

"Duvall." Petty, maybe, but he got in his slight, too.

Pinkie pretended not to notice."Have a seat."

Burke took a chair facing the desk, which was slightly larger than a Ping-Pong table. On it, a picture of Remy Duvall was encased in an ornate silver frame. He pretended not to notice it.

"Would you like something to drink?" Pinkie offered.

"Such as hemlock?"

Duvall smiled."I was thinking more along the lines of coffee."

"I don't want anything."

"Thank you for coming."

"I didn't come. I was brought."

Burke propped his ankle on his opposite knee and glanced over his shoulder at Bardo, who'd taken a seat on the sofa against the wall.

Burke disliked having his back to a man he knew was a killer, but he supposed if Duvall had sent Bardo to pop him this morning, he'd be dead by now.

When he turned back at Duvall, he sensed his amusement. He was waiting for Burke to ask what the hell this interview was about. Burke would have petrified before asking. Why give Duvall the satisfaction of seeing his curiosity, or fear? This meeting was his idea. Let him commence it.

After a lengthy standoff, Duvall finally said, "I'm sure you're wondering why I wanted to see you."

Burke shrugged indifferently.

"I've heard some surprising news."

"Yeah, what?"

"You've resigned from the police department."

"Your sources have always been excellent."

"Your resignation creates a large hole in the Narcotics Division."

"I doubt that."

"You're too modest."

"I'm also too busy to sit here all day and bullshit with you about something that's none of your business."

Again, Duvall refused to be provoked."Early retirement?"

"Maybe."

"Why'd you quit?"

"None of your damn business."

"What do you plan to do?"

Burke shook his head with disbelief and spread his arms wide.

"You're forcing me to repeat myself."

Duvall gave him a measured look."My guess is that you resigned because you're still upset over the verdict of Mr. Bardo's trial.

We won, you lost, and you took the defeat personally. Doesn't the term 'sore loser' apply, Mr. Basile?"

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you? It would boost your colossal ego to believe that you have that much influence over the choices I make. Well, sorry to disappoint, but you couldn't be more wrong."

Duvall smiled in a way that indicated he knew Burke was lying.

"You want to know the point of this meeting?"

"Or not. I really couldn't care less."

"Now that we're no longer on opposing sides, I'd like to offer you a job in my organization."

Burke Basile didn't have a sharp sense of humor. In the mirth and merrymaking department, he never lost control. In fact, it was common knowledge that he seldom smiled. Audible laughter was even rarer than that. It had been the unfulfilled ambition of many of his colleagues to make Burke Basile break up with hilarity.

They wouldn't have recognized the hearty laughter that burst out of him at Duvall's absurd statement."Come again?" "I believe I made myself clear," Duvall said, no longer looking amused.

"Oh, I heard you. I just can't believe what I heard. You want me to come to work for you? Doing what?"

"A man of your experience could be valuable to me. More valuable than you were to the police department." Reaching into his desk drawer, he withdrew several sheets that had been paper-clipped together.

He held them up for Burke to see."A copy of your tax return for last year. Shameful, the pittance society pays the men and women who protect it."

Duvall wouldn't have had too much trouble getting his hands on a copy of his tax return. It could have come to him through anyone from an IRS employee to Burke's postman. He didn't care that Duvall knew how much, or how little, he had earned at his former job. What bothered him was that Duvall had such easy access to him. That, he felt, was also the point Duvall was making.

"I'm no longer a cop," Burke said, "but make no mistake, Duvall.

You and I are still on opposing sides. Fact is, we're poles apart."